


deconstruct

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time Bottoming, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rimming, bottom bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: For a long time, he’d anticipated his desire for Holden; he’d crushed it and suffocated it before acknowledging it, before nurturing it. He’d come to expect the hunger for his skin, his body, the way it takes Bill’s cock as if that’s all it was ever meant to do; but he hadn’t anticipated this - and he certainly hadn’t anticipated how easily he succumbed to the notion, or how willingly aroused he is by the thought of it.A high-stress case in the middle of Bill's divorce leads Holden to suggest Bill let him take care of him for once.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 19
Kudos: 64





	deconstruct

_ It’s a scorcher, folks. _ The radio talk show host underscores the suffocating heat and unmitigated sunlight that blankets all of Miami in an uncomfortable, sweating shroud. Just beyond the taxi, Bill can see the police precinct coming into view, rising up out of the other buildings in a shimmering mirage that quivers from the asphalt. Sweat lines his temples and itches beneath his clothes, not only a testament to the withering summer heat but also to the knotted frustration gripping the pit of his stomach. 

They have four dead women and no leads. They’re canvassing the streets every night since some of these women are prostitutes. They’re looking into johns and pimps. They’re holding press conferences in an attempt to coax the killer into the light. They’re doing everything they can, meanwhile Bill is once again splitting his time between the case and his personal life. It feels like he’s repeating Atlanta all over again. 

As the taxi driver pulls up to the curb, Bill quickly pays in cash, and steps out onto the sidewalk where two officers are trying to wrangle a bald, tattooed man who appears to be high as a kite. 

Bill skirts his way past the scuffle, muttering his apologies, and shoulders past the front door of the precinct where he’s greeted with the relieving blast of air conditioning. The phones are ringing off the hook, grating against his frayed nerves as he makes his way through the bullpen and to the conference room the task force is working out of. 

The group of no less than thirty detectives and officers are gathered around with Chief of Police Smith and Miami SAC Crider leading the discussion. Bill slips inside, and shuffles along the back wall to where Holden is standing on the perimeter with his arms folded over his chest. 

“Did I miss anything important?” He whispers. 

“Not unless you count Crider reaming everyone’s asses as ‘important’.” Holden says, keeping his voice down. 

Bill pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache, but the gesture doesn’t ease the fist in the bottom of his stomach. 

Holden had called him last night to let him know that another woman had been killed. If the news wasn’t bad enough, there had been a mix-up in the surveillance schedule, and that particular section of the grid had been left unattended when the first shift of officers had gone home for the night. A turn for the worse that came right after Bill got out of divorce court where he’d spent two hours squabbling with Nancy over visitation rights. He feels like he’s nearing his breaking point, but neither the case nor the divorce seem close to ending. 

After the meeting winds down and everyone receives their assignments for the day, Crider catches Bill on his way out the door. 

“Bill, can I speak to you for a minute?”

“Uh, sure.”

Holden shoots him a worried glance before leaving him alone with Crider. 

“What’s going on?” Bill asks, measuring Crider with a calm gaze. 

Crider peers back from behind his thick glasses. He’s an older man, the Hoover ass-kissing type that climbed the ladder by stepping on other people’s shoulders with a reputation for being a cantankerous prick. The few run-ins that Bill has had with him have never been pleasant, and he has a feeling that friction is about to accelerate from an easily ignored chafe to an enraging burn. 

“Well, Bill, to be honest, I’m a little frustrated.” Crider says, bracing his hands on his hips. “The Miami police called you boys in on this one because they thought my field office wasn’t doing a good enough job. Now you’re not here half the time.”

“Look, John-” Bill says, trying to keep an even tone, “No one ever said that you weren’t doing a good job. Serial murders are my and Agent Ford’s specialty. That’s why we were called in.”

“That isn’t the fucking point.” Crider says, hardly matching Bill’s genial tone. “It reflects poorly on all of us at the Bureau when some people aren’t pulling their weight.”

“You know as well as I do that these task forces are a collaboration not a contest.” 

“And it should be an equal collaboration.” 

Bill sighs, his gaze cutting away from Crider’s pinched stare of exasperation. He tries to rein in his ballooning frustration. 

“I don’t work for you, John; but if you really feel like you need to know, I have some obligations at home that I have to take care of. Nothing I can do about it.”

“We all have families.” 

“My wife is divorcing me, okay?” Bill says, sharply, turning back to Crider, “I have court dates. Things I can’t miss. Is that good enough for you?”

Crider’s mouth moves silently for a moment before he glances away, his cheeks warming. “Bill, I’m sorry-”

“Save it.” Bill says, holding up his hand. “It fucking blows that the surveillance schedule got messed up last night. I get it. It’s frustrating, and you need to take that frustration out on someone - but I wasn’t responsible for that schedule; so let’s just keep working and not wasting valuable time pointing fingers.”

Crider nods, his expression cowed. “You’re right.”

“Yeah. Let’s get back work.”

Bill leaves the conference room before Crider can offer a further apology or agreement. When he gets back out to the bullpen, Holden rises from his desk. 

“What was that about?” He asks as Bill marches to his desk, and yanks his cigarettes out of his pocket. 

“Nothing. We’ve got work to do.” Bill says, barely meeting his gaze. 

Holden sinks back down to his chair, but Bill can feel the weight of his concern and the twinge of sympathy. It only makes Bill’s frustration simmer hotter because he doesn’t need sympathy or someone crying over the mess his life has become. He just needs a fucking break. 

~

It’s late, past ten-thirty by the time Bill and Holden get back to the hotel that day. As they ride the elevator up to their rooms, they share a few remarks about the case before Holden falls quiet, silently watching the tense set of Bill’s jaw and the anxious shift of his feet. 

“I think I’m gonna go straight to bed.” Bill says, curtailing Holden’s incoming questions. “I’m beat.”

“Yeah, me too.” Holden says. 

They part ways in the hall with muttered goodnights, and Bill ducks into his room before Holden can think to press him for details. 

Leaving his clothes in a heap by his suitcase, Bill goes directly to the bathroom to shower off the sweat and grime of the day. Some of the tension sluices down the drain with it, but the stress headache clings to his temples like stubborn, overgrown weeds. 

After the shower, he pours two mini bottles of whiskey from the fridge into a glass, and crawls into bed to aimlessly watch television until he falls asleep. 

Fifteen minutes later, a quiet knock on the door draws his attention from the sitcom rerun chattering across the TV screen. Throwing back the last of the whiskey, Bill crawls off the bed, and goes to the door. A quick glance through the peephole tells him what he already suspected. 

Suppressing a sigh, Bill pulls the door open, and leans against the frame to regard Holden’s hesitant gaze. 

“Can I come in?” Holden asks, softly. 

“It’s really late.”

“I know.” 

Bill absorbs the weight of his hopeful blue eyes brimming with concern, and he wonders, not for the first time, why he can’t say no to Holden. 

“Fine.” He says, pulling the door open. “But only for a little bit. I really need to get some sleep.”

“I won’t keep you up.” Holden says, shuffling past Bill with a faint smile. “We can go to bed now if you want.”

“We’ve talked about this. We really shouldn’t sleep in the same room when we’re working.”

Holden nods, his mouth pinching into a dour line. “Right. I just miss it.”

_ So do I.  _ Bill thinks, but he doesn’t say it aloud because commiseration will only encourage Holden’s determination to stay for the rest of the night. 

He slips past Holden, and crawls back onto the bed with a tired sigh. 

“So … that Agent Crider is a prick.” Holden says, turning slowly to pin Bill with a searching gaze. 

“Yeah, he can be.”

“What did he say to you?” 

“Nothing I can’t handle. I don’t really want to talk about this, Holden.”

Holden’s brow creases with a frown. Lowering his head, he wanders closer to the bed, with his hands tucked in his pockets. As he reaches the edge of the mattress, he peeks up at Bill and gently suggests, “Maybe you would feel better if you did.” 

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Come on, I can tell you’re upset.” Holden says, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, and putting a hand on Bill’s knee. 

“What? Over Crider?” Bill asks, giving a mirthless chuckle. “I don’t give two shits about what that guy thinks of me. I know the value of our work here.” 

“Is that what he was saying? That we’re not doing enough?”

“No.” Bill says, quietly but firmly. He clasps his hand over Holden’s knuckles, and squeezes. “Just don’t worry about it, okay? I’m fine.” 

Holden sighs quietly before pinning Bill with a stern gaze. “It’s not about Crider, is it?” 

Bill swallows hard, and glances away. Tugging his hand away from Holden’s, he grabs his cigarettes from the nightstand, and presses one to his mouth. His lighter scrapes twice in the dense silence before nicotine tinges the air. 

Holden’s head tilts down, and his frown deepens. “Will you at least admit that it’s putting a strain on you?”

“Of course it fucking is.” Bill says, sharply, his defenses rising. 

Their gazes clash, and he immediately feels the clutch of regret in his chest. Leaning over to tap ashes into the tray, he exhales a weary sigh along with a stream of smoke. 

“You’ve got enough to worry about.” He says, softening his tone. “You’re dealing with things here while I have to be out of town. You don’t need to be carrying my personal shit on your shoulders, too.”

“That isn’t how I see it.” Holden whispers. 

Bill avoids his gaze, and takes another slow drag of his cigarette. The faint rush of nicotine barely soothes his frayed nerves, merely inadequate triage over a slowly rending wound. 

“You can talk to me.” Holden adds, rubbing his thumb across Bill’s knee. “Maybe I can’t understand what you’re going through, but I can listen. It helps to get it off your chest.”

Silence settles, dense and suffocating. Bill can’t concentrate on maintaining his barriers with Holden’s touch gingerly caressing his skin, threatening to untether his fiercely held emotions. 

“I just … I don’t think I can right now.” He says, and his voice holds a shudder he hadn’t meant to allow, the precipice of breakage. 

Holden’s gaze clings gently to Bill’s, compassion swimming in their deep blue. He nods in quiet understanding. 

Bill thinks he should tell Holden to go back to his own room now before anything else slips free. _ He just needs a good night’s rest, and then he’ll be back on his feet. Just one small respite, everything will be fine. Hold it together.  _

The mantra in his head halts as Holden leans over to take the cigarette from his fingers and stamp it out in the ashtray. 

“I wasn’t finished with that.” Bill says, a frown knitting his brow. 

Ignoring the complaint, Holden pulls his feet up off the floor, and crawls over to straddle Bill’s lap. A few lingering trails of smoke curl from Bill’s mouth as he leans down to impart a slow, yearning kiss. His hand cradles Bill’s cheek, turning his chin up into the gradual exchange of shuddering lips and saliva. 

Bill’s mouth parts, releasing a tremulous breath against the lapsing pressure of Holden’s lips stroking softly, fleetingly against his own. He clasps his hands over Holden’s hips to draw him closer, and he can feel the warmth of skin seeping through fabric barriers into his palms, urging him to give over to raw need even if he can’t carry an honest conversation right now. 

Holden’s mouth separates from Bill’s, and he pulls back a few scarce inches to gaze into his eyes. His thumb strokes across Bill’s cheek, delicate yet purposeful. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” Holden murmurs, “But can you at least let me take care of you?”

Bill blinks against the sudden rush of emotion that Holden’s whispered suggestion incites. It crests in his chest in slowly incoming waves that he can anticipate and swallow down, that he could silence if only Holden would stop being so gentle and good. 

Before he can conjure a protest, Holden kisses him in again, a little harder this time. The sweep of his lips is wet and warm, the flick of his tongue nudging past Bill’s teeth. Tilting his head, he fits their mouths together at a deeper angle where he can control the pace of the kiss and curl his tongue inward against the tremulous offer of Bill’s tongue. 

Their breaths quicken against one another as Holden’s knees dig into the mattress and he lifts up to leverage his mouth down harder across Bill’s. His tongue grazes with every hungry stroke, leaving Bill’s lips slick and humming, chin drizzling with saliva, chest pounding with sudden need. 

He sinks down against the pillows as Holden’s hands push gently at his chest. Grasping at Holden’s rocking hips, Bill urges the grinding rhythm and the building friction eliciting a shallow throb in his groin that’s matched by Holden’s already swelling erection.

Holden groans into his mouth at the dull pressure of Bill’s cock rubbing against his own, impeded by layers of fabric. The kiss fragments into lapsing, wet strokes in between gasping breaths, both of them overwhelmed by abrupt, pulsing need. 

Holden pulls back with a muted gasp, his breath gusting hotly against Bill’s cheeks. His teeth scrape in concentration across his damp lower lip as he reaches down to pry Bill’s hands from his hips by his wrists. Eyes telegraphing decided intent, he pushes Bill’s hands above his head, and gently pins his wrists to the mattress. 

Bill’s breath hitches. Need chafes against his lingering frustration and the smothered clutch of overwhelmed tears, and he isn’t sure whether to kick Holden off him in anger or lean into the intimacy being offered. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Holden asks, reading the conflict in Bill’s eyes. 

“I … I don’t know.” Bill says, exhaling slowly through his nostrils. “I’m exhausted. I don’t know if I’m up for-”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.” Holden murmurs, bending to kiss his cheek before nuzzling the next whisper against his ear. “I can do all the work.”

Bill swallows hard as the crushing tide of need rises with sudden, bracing force. His cock gives a needy twitch, uncaring for the tangled mess of his emotions, or perhaps feeding on that fractured vulnerability; and some small voice in the back of his mind whispers that he can’t be all things for himself, he can’t hold his own body the way Holden can. 

Holden leans back to catch his gaze again. “I’ll go if you really want me to.” 

Bill hesitates a moment before shaking his head. “No. Stay.”

Relief brightens Holden’s eyes. Bending down, he plants another kiss on Bill’s mouth, the push of his lips persistent with elation. 

Bill opens his mouth to the caress, feeling every stronghold inside of him giving way, wanting nothing more than to collapse into the warmth of Holden’s body, the comfort he’s offering. 

Holden hums a sound of need from the back of his throat as his mouth breaks away from Bill’s, trailing down his chin and beneath his jaw. The kisses wind down against Bill’s throat, into the tender niche beneath his ear to trigger a low wave of intense yet warm tingles down his spine and into his belly. 

Bill hears himself groan softly, and he clenches his jaw over the rising sound. He pushes his wrists up against Holden’s weight, but Holden only asserts the grip stronger, keeping Bill pinned to the mattress as he lifts his head again. 

“Are you going to let me do this?” He murmurs. 

Bill relaxes his wrists even as his rough edges and defenses struggle to rise up against the threat of vulnerability. Shoving down that instinctive flinch, Bill gives a clipped nod. 

Holden’s hands retreat from his wrists, and Bill leaves them lying above his head as Holden shifts down, trailing kisses along the hollow of his collarbones and the staggered rise of his sternum while his fingers sneak under the hem of his undershirt. 

Bill closes his eyes against the surge of warmth filling his belly. The shallow throb between his legs grows as Holden works the shirt up his ribs and his mouth dips down to rain kisses on the exposed skin. 

Bill pulls the undershirt off over his head, and tosses it away, eager to be free of any barriers between him and Holden’s sweet mouth. His eyes slip open long enough to see Holden’s mouth traveling boldly down his stomach, leaving damp traces of saliva simmering on the skin in his wake. A wave of need rolls through him, and Bill drops his head back against the pillow with a soft moan. Clutching his hands above his head, he tries not to squirm as Holden’s fingertips graze back and forth just beneath the waistband of his boxers, titillating sensitive skin and teasing impending pleasure. The kisses nuzzle their way down against his hip, sharpening with the scrape of faint stubble to an unbearable tickle. 

Bill bites at his lower lip, silencing a moan even as his breaths rush rapidly from his nostrils. He lifts his hips as Holden tugs on the boxers, working the elastic band back from his hip to kiss down into the juncture of thigh and groin. 

“Fuck …” The curse staggers from low in his throat, pushed free by burgeoning need. 

Casting a quick glance downward, Bill feels his insides go weak with arousal when he glimpses the fabric stretching back from his hardening cock, Holden’s mouth grazing the skin just a few inches away. 

The boxers come down slowly, letting his erection breathe and swell freely against his belly. Bill kicks them from his ankles, and Holden immediately clutches his knees to nudge them open. He resists the repositioning for a few moments before Holden slips between his legs, giving him no choice but to submit. 

Hot breath spills across the pulsing head of his cock, drawing Bill’s spine into a shuddering arch. He bites harder at his lower lip, silencing the desperate whimper swelling in the back of his throat. The gradual pace of Holden’s pleasuring chafes up against his taut nerves, threatening to send him over the edge before Holden lays a single finger on him, inside him. 

Holden shoots a glance upward, catching Bill’s tense stare. He smiles softly, and runs his fingertips down the throbbing shaft of Bill’s cock. 

Bill’s hips jump, and a grunt punches free from his chest.  _ Please.  _ The thought brands itself across the back of his mind, but he swallows it down.  _ He isn’t that desperate.  _

Holden curls his fingers softly around the root of his cock, dragging it up from his belly. It twitches in his grasp, and he regards it delightedly for a long moment before leaning in to take the head in his mouth. 

“Jesus.” Bill whispers, his body curling in towards the slick, hot pressure of Holden’s lips. 

_ Not that desperate - yet.  _

His hand darts instinctively to clutch at the crown of Holden’s hair, but Holden resists the eager grasp. He keeps his pace slow and steady, suckling gently, loosely at the head and licking around the swollen rim before allowing his mouth to stretch open. The slow, erotic pleasuring seems to last a brief eternity until he lets Bill’s cock slide deeper into his mouth, down against the slick, wriggling pressure of his tongue, all the way to the back of his palate. 

“Oh, fuck.” Bill groans, a shudder working its way from deep inside him. “Holden.” 

Holden hums a reply as he sucks up and down, working a steady rhythm with his lips suctioned around the shaft. 

The sudden intense pressure tears through Bill’s belly like a hot knife, pushing fledgling arousal to full-blown need in a matter of seconds. He rocks his hips up against the pumping caress, but Holden braces a hand against his hip to pin him down. 

Bill gasps as the sucking ends all too quickly, and Holden’s mouth comes away glistening and pink from friction. His cock drops down against his belly to writhe in slick, aroused agony, awakening pleasure simmering achingly low in his groin. 

Holden’s breath winds across the hot, tortured flesh, driven by a low hum of satisfaction. He braces his palm over the shaft, not stroking but pinning it down against Bill’s stomach to hold him in place as he shifts lower to lick across his balls. 

Bill’s heels dig into the mattress, bracing against a violent shudder of pleasure. His eyes slam shut as the wet, curling stroke of Holden’s tongue circles over his balls, but he can’t help the strangled moan that lurches from his chest. He clutches harder at Holden’s hair, trying in vain to ease the pace of desperation beginning to singe across his nerves like a spreading wildfire. 

Ignoring the pulling on his hair, Holden works his way around each sac before drawing one into his mouth. The slow, suckling pressure intensifies, and Bill feels everything at his core caving, need building hot, hard, and crushing. Self-control gets stripped away in the flood, leaving him writhing helplessly against the gentle tugging of Holden’s mouth, the slick embrace of saliva, the need twitching beneath Holden’s palm gripping his cock. 

As Holden’s mouth retreats, Bill’s eyelids slip open to see the ceiling prickling with a border of aroused stars. He pants hard, searching for restraint, but Holden is already moving on to the next stage, his hands deliberately urging Bill’s knees up towards his chest. 

“Fuck, Holden-” Bill rasps, his back arching instinctively at the wash of Holden’s breath. 

“Shh.” Holden murmurs, his fingertips stroking the tender underside of Bill’s thigh. “Relax.”

Bill clenches his jaw, trying to heed Holden’s advice. He lifts his head from the pillow to see Holden’s mouth poised just above his balls, exhaling warmth down into the cleft. 

Holden peeks up at him, eyes a hazy, intoxicating blue in the low light; and that gaze takes everything out of him, the last of his will to resist how good this gradual deconstruction feels. Then, his eyelids lower in concentration, and Bill’s head drops weakly to the pillow as the hot, wet slither of his tongue drags across the cleft. 

Holden hums softly, sending the vibration of that pleased noise down through his tongue and into Bill’s body. He licks slowly, deliberately, lathering the cleft in saliva before he narrows in on the hole. 

Bill pants breathlessly, too lost in the sensation to block the helplessly pleasured noises. Bracing a foot against Holden’s shoulder, he leans tentatively into the swirling pressure of Holden’s tongue. The caress tightens into a deliberate grind against his opening, coaxing tense muscles to relax, heightening arousal with the slick, erotic stroke. 

“Oh, fuck.” Bill whispers, his voice rising brokenly from his trembling lips. 

He presses his eyes shut, focusing on the wet push of Holden’s tongue quickly taking him apart. His fingers are knotted in Holden’s hair, but he doesn’t push or pull; he lets Holden’s pace lead his body into swimming arousal where he’s rapidly losing sight of his frustrations and his tension. 

Just as he’s melting limply into the pleasuring, Holden leans back and severs the intimate kiss. 

Bill’s eyelids struggle open, his confusion nudging past the delirious haze of arousal just before Holden grasps him by the thigh to turn him over onto his stomach. He rolls over compliantly, and he manages to scrape his scattered thoughts back into order in the brief interlude. Casting a searching gaze of his shoulder, he sees Holden lean over to grab one of the pillows from the headboard. 

“Lift up.” Holden instructs, nudging his hip. 

Bill blinks a moment, his face flushing with heat, before his body eagerly obeys. Holden tucks the pillow underneath his hips, and he sinks down into an arched position. His cock presses into the soft embrace of the pillow, cotton chafing against his aching flesh. He rocks his hips tentatively into the inadequate friction, and feels a moan budding against the back of his throat. 

Holden’s palm grazes his ass cheek as he bends over to plant a kiss against the back of Bill’s neck. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Holden whispers, his tone holding an eager, hopeful tone.

Bill closes his eyes and nods. 

Holden’s fingers slip down into the cleft, grazing lathered saliva and tender skin. Bill’s hips jolt against the touch that hisses through his veins, sharp and cutting. The moan blossoms harder against the back of his throat, twisting into a strangled little whimper as his hips lean hesitantly into the pressure and Holden accommodates with a slow stroke of two fingertips. 

“Jesus …” Bill pants, softly, pressing his forehead to the mattress. 

Holden trails a row of kisses down his spine, starting out slow and deliberate between his shoulder blades and quickly devolving to a hasty stamp of wet lips as he reaches the rise of Bill’s backside, the arched knob of his tail bone. He kisses inward, hands clutching Bill’s ass cheeks apart to lave the taut pucker with the hot drag of his tongue. 

“Fuck, Holden-” Bill chokes out, grasping at the sheets for support.

Digging his knees into the mattress, he arches back against the firm, swirling stroke of Holden’s tongue. He’s too aroused to care that he’s coming undone, humping desperately back against Holden’s mouth like it’s the first and only time he’ll ever feel this kind of pleasure. The need clutching his belly is a white-hot, intense brand of pleasure that wildly outweighs his misgivings, his pride, his frustrations, his everything; he just wants Holden’s touch all over him, inside him, crawling into his deepest parts and carving out a space for himself there, irreversible and permanent. 

He moans, feeling himself giving way as Holden’s tongue goes firm and pointed against him. With a few nudging and searching thrusts, it slips inside, curling into the first shallow, thrilling thrust. 

Bill gasps, his hips momentarily locking motionless against the pumping pressure of Holden’s tongue. His mouth stretches open a strangled whine as the sensation washes over him again and again, shudders originating beneath the weight of Holden’s tongue and rolling up through his belly and chest. An indefinable ache clutches him down to the core, a need to be opened and possessed entirely that he doesn’t recognize swallowing up all else. 

“Fuck, please …” And there, it emerges, unbottled and set free from his chest where he’d been forcefully stifling it for what feels like an age. 

Holden’s tongue retreats, flicking across the sensitized skin a few more times before he pulls back entirely. 

Bill sinks down against the pillow, breathing heavily. His body hums with a dull, compounding ache that’s only interrupted by the scorch of heat on his throat and cheeks. Swallowing back the flinch of his crumbling pride, he casts a quick glance over his shoulder to see Holden crouched behind him. 

Holden’s gaze wanders over Bill’s arched spine and backside as his fingertips trace his quivering inner thigh. He slowly looks up at Bill, and his eyes are gleaming with insatiable, primal hunger, a compulsion that Bill knows well enough. 

“Holden-” He begins, feeling the need to explain himself for some contrived reason. 

“Shh, don’t talk.” Holden interrupts, softly as he leans over to nuzzle a kiss against Bill’s cheek. “I know what you need.” 

Bill turns his mouth into Holden’s fleeting kiss. The musky scent of his own body is on Holden’s tongue, a heady perfume between their panting mouths. 

“Don’t move.” Holden says. 

Bill opens his mouth to protest, but Holden crawls off the bed, leaving his body quivering against the pillow. He swings his gaze over his other shoulder to track Holden’s movement across the room to the suitcase. He crouches down to search through Bill’s rumpled clothing before his hand comes out gripping the Vaseline. 

Bill’s stomach knots with growing anticipation and a mild flare of panic. 

For a long time, he’d anticipated his desire for Holden; he’d crushed it and suffocated it before acknowledging it, before nurturing it. He’d come to expect the hunger for his skin, his body, the way it takes Bill’s cock as if that’s all it was ever meant to do; but he hadn’t anticipated this - and he certainly hadn’t anticipated how easily he succumbed to the notion, or how willingly aroused he is by the thought of it. 

Holden crawls back onto the bed, and opens the jar of Vaseline. The sound of his fingertips dipping into the ointment registers densely across Bill’s raw senses, triggering a rift of arousal through his core that swells toward restless impatience. 

Pressing his forehead to the sheets, Bill draws in a hitched breath, and arches his hips back into the impending caress. Holden’s fingers come down to meet him, slowly and gently. The slick glaze of Vaseline coats up and down the cleft, eliminating any chance for negative friction and leaving his body quaking with exhilaration. For several long moments, the caress stays consistent, rubbing up and down, narrowing in on his hole until it’s swirling directly over the taut pucker and urging him to melt open.

Holden’s breath washes across his nape along with the muted whisper, “Bill, relax. Breathe.”

He opens his eyes, realizing he’d been holding his breath. He lets it out slowly, feeling some of the tension drain out with it. As he sinks compliantly into the pillow, Holden’s finger nudges forward to breach him. 

“Oh, fuck.” Bill whispers, his body lunging into a taut arch against the careful pressure. 

Holden shushes him softly, planting kisses against the tense grip of his shoulder until the muscles unwind again. His finger pumps softly yet firmly, working its way inside at a persistent pace until it's down to the knuckle. 

“God-” Bill groans, hips curling into the probing. 

Holden hums a pleased reply, and begins to pump his hand in long, deep strokes. 

Need wraps itself around Bill’s belly, cinching tighter and hotter with every steady violation. A haze of arousal settles over his brain like fog, screening off all else except for the taut pleasure humming through his veins. His knees dig underneath of him for leverage, working his hips back against Holden’s hand. 

Holden pauses long enough to add another oily layer of Vaseline before he continues, rubbing two fingertips firmly across the opening. 

Bill goes still, panting hard through his nostrils as the touch narrows and the pressure increases. His cock jolts, drawing unbearably taut, and he can’t stop the whimper that escapes his chest, nor the needy rock of his hips leaning back to encourage Holden’s fingers. As the pressure compounds, he feels his body stretch to accommodate, then lapse, and finally accept the pumping stroke of two fingers delving into him. 

He shudders, his mouth laying open against the sheets, his hands clinging feebly to the edge of the mattress. His knees curl under himself as the rhythm deepens and quickens, Holden’s fingers thrusting in and out of him, circling, rocking, working him open, massaging the last of the resistance right out of his body. Whimpers crowd against the back of his throat, too many to swallow back and silence; so he lays there, quivering and moaning, his body humming with uncontrollable need and rutting back into Holden’s searching fingers, unable to rouse himself into anything more dignified. 

In the raw, quicksilver seconds of pleasure, Bill feels everything go lax right before the tingles creep in, sweeping through his groin in clenching ripples that make him wonder if he’s simply going to climax into the pillow. He spends only a few seconds battling off the notion of this encounter ending so quickly before Holden’s fingers withdraw, leaving him crouched limply over the pillow, shivering with overstimulation and need. 

Holden rubs his thigh, and quietly urges. “Roll back over.”

Bill forces his trembling limbs into action, and turns over with his hips still lodged up against the pillow. 

Holden urges between his legs, absently stroking Vaseline over his cock as he leans forward to kiss Bill’s mouth in between shaky breaths. Their foreheads nudge against one another in the intervals, and Holden gazes at him with a quiet and naked longing that Bill’s cheeks warm beneath. He glances away, feeling entirely stripped down and exposed beneath Holden’s gaze, his touch, the weight of his body leaning down to invade him. 

Holden’s fingers stroke his cheek, urging his chin back up as the other hand guides his cock up against Bill’s opening. 

Bill bites back a gasp, and his knees clamp on either side of Holden’s ribs at the first, scarce graze of hard flesh against him. 

“Look at me.” Holden murmurs, his tone gentle and unaccusing. 

Bill opens his eyes slowly to meet Holden’s gaze again, shuddering beneath the intensity of it. 

Holden’s mouth slips open as he presses closer, the head of his cock breaching Bill in a gradual thrust. His brow furrows in concentration, but his eyes stay open, clinging onto Bill’s slipping eyelids and gasping mouth. 

“Oh, fuck …” Bill whispers, his whole body shuddering as the dull pressure of Holden’s cock nudges into him. 

He clutches at Holden’s shoulders, and Holden reaches up to guide his wrists back against the mattress above his head. Their fingers lace together as he urges forward carefully, hips rocking in a slow, searching rhythm against dwindling resistance. 

Bill arches sharply, his head tilting back in a choked cry of pleasure. His arms revolt against Holden’s weight, instincts telling him to assert some kind of control over this moment even as the helpless grasp fails. Holden’s body sweetly dominates his fragile struggling, the embrace of his hands around Bill’s assuring, the persistent thrust of his hips gentle yet devastating. Slowly, their bodies come together, and the thick weight inside him is almost too much to bear, the slight friction on his prostate a pressed down trigger set to explode. 

“Jesus.  _ Fuck. _ ” Bill groans, shooting Holden a dazed glance through half-shut eyes. 

Holden bends to smother the tortured groan with a kiss, humming a pleased sigh into the sloppy exchange of lips. His hips rock forward, finding a shallow, grinding rhythm that works out the last of Bill’s resistance. 

Bill feels his body submit entirely, the pressure decreasing only by a fraction right before the deliberate angle finds him swollen and tender deep inside. His spine arches with the delicious frisson of white-hot pleasure that shoots through him, pushing him right up against the verge of orgasm. He gasps through the wave of tingles, and comes out on the other side rigid with anticipation, urging his hips with what little leverage he has against Holden’s thrusts. 

“Oh my God …” Holden whispers, his voice ragged and crumbling as his pace increases. He drags a hasty kiss across Bill’s dangling lips, and leans back to look him in the eyes. “You feel so good.”

Bill clamps his awestruck lips shut, and bites at his lower lip to quell a cry of overwhelmed pleasure. He can feel it boiling up inside him, nurtured by Holden’s whispered praise and struggling towards the peak with the consistent friction of Holden’s cock grinding deep inside him. 

“Bill,” Holden murmurs, bringing his attention back into focus. 

Bill blinks up at him, tries not to wither beneath the intense stare as Holden leans closer, his breath hot on Bill’s cheeks. 

“Good?” Holden presses. 

Bill gives a clipped nod. The moans building at the back of his throat drown out logical thought, fragmenting any kind of verbal reply he could have strung together. 

“Good.” Holden whispers, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, as his hips shift into a slightly faster rhythm. “You don’t know how long I’ve thought about this.”

A hitched breath chokes the back of Bill’s throat as the admission washes across his already strewn composure like flame. Heat curls up his throat and cheeks, but he can’t spare a thought to his shattered pride, only the question of just when Holden started thinking about fucking him like this. Bill had been thinking of fucking Holden for years before they actually began sleeping together, and somehow the thought of Holden’s longing stretching back just as far makes this explosion of need and casting away of inhibitions even hotter. 

Bill tilts his head back, losing himself to the tide of sensations while Holden pins him down, fucks into him, kisses his throat, every point of contact knife-edged and stunning. Arousal spirals through his belly, coiling tautly at his groin, and humming with presupposed pleasure just awaiting the right touch to climax. 

“Holden …” He whispers, too desperate to swallow back the plea weighing down his chest. “Please, I’m … I’m really close. I -”

Holden leans back, and Bill gasps aloud as he straightens to brace his hands against the underside of Bill’s knees. His hips maintain their steady pace, but this new angle rubs up against Bill’s prostate in a way that makes fiery, clamping need race to his core. 

“Oh, God.” Bill groans, grabbing at the sheets with one hand to brace himself. 

His other hand darts instinctively to his cock, grabbing hungrily at the leaping flesh to encourage the need rising between his thighs. His eyelids slip open as he feels Holden’s gaze tracking down his body like pins and needles, prickling every inch and sharpening the arousal until it's razor-sharp and unbearable. He blooms beneath the stare, back arching in divine pleasure, fingers stroking desperately over his cock, all of him reaching wildly for release. For a few breathless moments, he clings onto the verge of pleasure, his whole body so taut with need that he feels like he could splinter; but when it does come crashing through him, the pleasure encompasses him so entirely that he can hardly remember those moments of breathless longing and waiting. He’s pulled under like a rip current dragging his feet out from under him, pummeling the breath from his lungs, drowning him in the wave of spasms. 

Bill bucks against Holden’s thrusting hips, and releases a splattering stream of cum across his trembling belly and chest. His hand trembles as he strokes himself through the spasms, working them to full blown intensity and reveling in the clamp of every muscle that goes right down to his core. 

Holden moans, his hips rushing in hard, slapping bursts against Bill’s backside as he follows close behind the dying trails of Bill’s orgasm. 

Bill’s eyes open as he emerges from the haze of pleasure, finding his body jolting with every hard impact of Holden’s hips. A gasp tears itself from his throat as his mouth stretches open and he clings to the sheets. Taking every needy thrust of Holden’s cock driving into his tender, drained body, he watches Holden’s tense expression shift from languid need, to intense arousal, to shocked pleasure until he comes. 

Holden’s hips seize against him, locked in paralyzed, pleasured shock for the space of a few breathless moments before he begins to tremble. He releases with a hot gush, and Bill is struck with the slick, erotic sensation of his body being pumped full of cum. 

Bill’s mouth drops back open in shock as Holden’s hips thrust against him through orgasm, rutting against the slick lubricant of his own cum. The jagged motion stammers and fades into nothing when the climax deflates, and Holden leans forward to rest his forehead against Bill’s right knee. 

They rest quietly for a long moment, both of them breathing heavily. Holden retracts his hips, wilting cock slipping out of him, and leaving Bill with a void, aching sensation. He bites his lower lip against a whimper as even the slightest movements makes his body flinch and tremble with raw stimulation. 

Holden lifts his head from Bill’s knee, and casts him a bewildered smile. 

Bill swallows hard, and pushes himself upright. He can feel Holden’s cum drizzling out of him, soiling his thighs, the bed sheets. 

“I, uh … I need the bathroom.”

Holden nods, and leans back to let him up. 

Bill staggers across the room, and pushes the bathroom door shut behind him. His reflection in the mirror is flushed and disheveled.  _ Well-fucked.  _ It’s a look he recognizes better on Holden. 

Grabbing a washcloth, Bill runs warm water over it, and sits down on the toilet while he cleans himself up. While he scrapes together his composure, he lets his mind wander back over the details; even now, with everything fading and stabilizing, he can feel every humming spot where Holden’s hands and mouth touched him, as if he’d been branded, owned and taken in every way. The feeling settles in his chest, heavy and insurmountable, but it’s making itself at home, finding room, claiming the space, and he quietly realizes that he doesn’t hate anything about what just happened. For a few minutes, he hadn’t thought about anything but pleasure, and it felt good to let go completely. 

A quiet knock on the door draws Bill from his thoughts. 

“Are you okay?” Holden’s voice wanders from the other side of the door. 

“Yeah, just a minute.”

Bill gets up and quickly flushes the toilet and rinses out the washcloth before pulling the door open. 

Holden leans against the frame, his gaze gently searching Bill’s. 

“Are you okay?” He repeats, softly. 

Bill nods. “Yeah.” 

Holden smiles, and catches Bill’s fingers in his own. “Come back to bed with me.”

Bill follows him back to the bed, and they crawl beneath the sheets to settle down into a spooned position, Bill’s chest fitting comfortably against Holden’s back. 

“Did I surprise you?” Holden asks, nudging his hand underneath Bill’s and pushing his knuckles into his palm. 

Bill tucks his chin against Holden’s shoulder as their hands tangle in the air above them, fingers lacing and unlacing, his fingertips tracing Holden’s knuckles. 

“You said you’ve been thinking about it …” Bill says, “For how long?”

“Awhile. Feels like forever now.” Holden whispers, his curling inward as Bill’s hand encompasses his fist. 

“Why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“I wasn’t sure you would let me.”

Bill grunts a self-deprecating chuckle. 

“You’re not the easiest person to ask things from, you know.” Holden says, his own muted laughter joining Bill’s. 

“Ah, well. I can’t argue with that.” 

Their quiet laughter fades back into silence. Bill watches their hands move in the low light, stroking and embracing equally despite the slightly larger breadth of his palm over Holden’s soft fingers. 

“Sometimes I’m wrong.” Bill murmurs at length. 

Holden rolls onto his back to meet Bill’s gaze, gentle amusement lurking in his eyes. “Say that again. I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

Bill sighs and shakes his head. “I said sometimes I’m wrong and you’re right.”

Holden lifts his head from the pillow to press a kiss to Bill’s mouth. “I knew it would be amazing. I was right about that, too, wasn’t I?”

“Yes.” Bill mutters into the kiss, stroking Holden’s cheek with his thumb. 

When they break apart, Holden nuzzles his mouth and nose into Bill’s neck and rolls over completely so that they can embrace. Bill clings onto him, breathing in the familiar smell of his skin, the warmth of his body, the way they fit together like two parts of a whole. 

Right now is about the time he should be telling Holden to go back to his own room for the sake of appearances. He should be mustering his authority and his sensibility. Holden would complain a bit but comply eventually. Then he would be left alone in this bed, isolated with his thoughts and the possibility of sinking back down into his stress and frustrations again. 

Bill closes his eyes, and tells himself ten more minutes. Ten more minutes of peaceful harmony wrapped up in Holden’s arms. Ten more minutes before reality perforates this warm little cocoon. That’s the way it has to be. Still, somewhere between that flagging promise and the exhausted slip of his eyelids, the time melts away into ten minutes or thirty, and Holden’s body blends into his own as he fades away into dreams. 

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing bottom bill!!! I'm actually nervous lol Let know what you guys think and if you want me to write more like this 😊💕
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!  
> 


End file.
